


City Midnights

by lightsinthedistance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, F/M, Female Reader, Flashbacks, Hurt, Implied Sexual Assault, Implied Torture, Near Death, Reader Insert, Second person POV, Violence, implied rape, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsinthedistance/pseuds/lightsinthedistance
Summary: “The concrete ripples in your delirium, shifting like the smoke your pilot leaves in his wake when he takes to the skies. He is your once in a lifetime, and you are determined to cherish him as your final hour approaches.”Reader reflects back on their life with Poe in their final moments.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Original Character(s), Poe Dameron/Original Female Character(s), Poe Dameron/Reader, Poe Dameron/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

_You lie on his chest, fingers tracing circles over smooth skin. It’s just you and him. You and your Commander. He’s sleeping, soft breaths escaping his slightly parted lips, his lashes curly and long. He looks relaxed when he sleeps. More relaxed than you ever see him. He’s a man who feels that he needs to save the entire galaxy, and slumber is the only time where he relieves himself of that burden._

_“Poe,” you murmur. “Sweetheart.” Your hand caresses his cheek. A worry weighs heavy on your chest. You want someone to talk to._

_You know he won’t mind you waking him. He never does._

_His eyelids flutter, a soft groan escaping his lips. The light streaming through the window reflects handsomely on him as he rubs his eyes, a smile playing out across his face at the sight of you beside him, slightly over him._

_“Morning, princess,” he says softly, a tired raspiness to his voice. He glances at the clock, raising an eyebrow at the time. “What the hell, sweetheart? It’s early.” He says it as if he intends it to be a complaint, but there’s no malice behind his voice, just a mild concern._

_“I know, I’m sorry,” you whisper, momentarily regretting your decision._

_“Hey, it’s fine.” He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “What’s wrong?” His hand gently rests on your back, pulling you back down to his chest._

_“Just worried about my mission tomorrow.” You know it’s going to be dangerous. You knew that the moment you’d received the assignment. But of course, you’d accepted it, for this was your duty: to work for the greater good and lie down your life for it if necessary._

_Poe presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve got it planned down to the second. It’ll be clean in and out, like always. You’re Leia’s best agent for a reason, love.” His genuine insistence begins to feed an easiness into you._

_“You don’t know that,” you reply, not quite knowing where this anxiety is coming from. Usually, you’re calm, ready to fight your own little war. But this time, there is a bad feeling settled in the pit of your stomach._

_“I do,” he insists, wrapping his arms around you. “It’ll go well. I know it will.” He pauses. “You’re the strongest person I know._ ”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

_Strongest person I know._

You’ve never felt weaker as you lie on the cold stone floor.

_It’ll go well._

It hadn’t gone well. You hadn’t seen it coming. The soldier coming in behind you. The impossibly strong blow to your head before the whole world went black.

But regardless, here you are. You shiver, your vision coming and going in spots before you. The ground of your cell is wet, each point of contact piercing your skin with an unbearable chill. You are hungry. And thirsty. And cold. And in so much pain.

The days pass and slowly blend into one. You don’t know how long you’ve been here. As your perception of time fades, so too does your hope. The Resistance is not coming. You are near certain. You’ll die at the hands of these pathetic First Order sympathizers. The days of waiting for your savior to come busting through the doors are long over. You only lay there, waiting for death—even hoping for it. The blows you take from your captors barely faze you anymore.

As your sanity dissolves, and as more time passes, an entire section of your head that you’d locked away years ago begins to come undone. You think of your home that you’d abandoned years ago, as if it’d meant nothing to you as you desperately searched the galaxy for your place in it all.

Visions of the oceans you grew up by flash in your mind, along with sundresses and red lipstick.  _I love you,_ whispers your mother. Extensive seas of hibiscus and forests of palms calm your nerves. You relish those visions, cling to them with desperation. If this is how you’ll die, you suppose it’s not the worst way to go.

But even that has its negatives, for each time your delirium collapses in calamity, all you can see and feel are darkness, gray, and cold. No longer warm sands and fiery skies, just the concrete. No more rippling water and flowers gently swaying in the wind, just the silence.

You are terrified. Fear is ripping you apart. The noises of your captors make you tense up. The wound slowly leaking blood onto the ground beneath you worries you. The pain in your entire body makes you await death like an old abuser.

And just like all your other times of fear, you turn to one person in your head. Him. Poe.

For a moment, you feel ridiculous. Like you’re some helpless damsel in a holodrama spending her last moment pathetically yearning away for her love. But in truth, Poe is much more than your love. He is the star to your planet, keeping you in orbit, stopping you from being flung into the endless depths of the cosmos.

He is your confidant, your rock, your partner in crime, your best friend in the entire galaxy and beyond. The concrete ripples in your delirium, shifting like the smoke your pilot leaves in his wake when he takes to the skies. He is your once in a lifetime, and you are determined to cherish him as your final hour approaches.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You slip and fall in and out of consciousness, seeing skies and concrete and oceans.

Gray.…orange.…gray.…blue.…gray, once more.

You’re in your own head, watching memories on replay, like you’re stuck in some joyous sub-reality that you’re so close, yet so far from reaching.

“ _Hey, what’s wrong?”_

_You jolt from where you’re sitting, out on the airfield, on some cargo boxes, legs hanging down. The sun is setting, the air is cooling, life out there is dying for the night. The presence of the curly-haired pilot is nearly bothersome. You want to be alone._

_Regardless, he climbs up beside you, loosely slinging an arm over your shoulder. Something about his demeanor always makes you relax._

_“Just not having the best day,” you respond, staring at the concrete below._

_“Would it be too intrusive to ask why?” His voice is tentative, unsure. “Or is this the part where I shut up and be quiet and just be there for you.”_

You laugh softly, processing his words.  There for you _._ You wonder if he feels like he has to be. There’s no doubt that there’s something between the two of you going on. That’s  been going on.

_“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”_

_Months of flirtations between you two. Compliments thrown back and forth, countless winks and touches, unsure if the attraction was true and notjust some cheap distraction from the war. Not just an attempt to ease pain by feeling desired by someone._

_“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask, your voice a little too shaky to not strike concern in him. “The war.”_

_He frowns, his fingers walking into your hand. You’re a fighter. He knows that. And this type of talk was not one to come from you._

_“What happened?” His voice is always soft, always comforting. But somehow it comes out even softer._

_You scoff. “Why do you even care?” It’s meant to come out lighthearted, but somehow it ends up sounding more malicious than you’d intended._

_“Because I care about you, sweetheart,” he whispers, the last remnants of the sun beginning to disappear._

_“Yeah?” You pull your hand away, twisting your fingers with your own instead. “You bother all your friends like this?” You rebuff his obvious admittance in a humorous tone, recoiling from the real, deep emotions beginning to permeate the air. You don’t feel like dealing with real emotions now. So in response, you grow defensive._

_“Not when I care about them as more than a friend.”_

_You freeze. Your immediate first thought is whether or not he’s messing with you. But not because he’s the Resistance golden boy or because he’s an outstanding pilot or because he’s impossibly handsome. You’re on par with him in your own game, and you don’t think of him like that._

_But you would’ve had that reaction to anyone who’d told you they cared about you. You haven’t been in a good place as of late._

_Poe is staring at you. Just staring. Waiting for you to say something. You say nothing. Your thoughts are racing, telling yourself to get something out. But nothing comes. And when you finally get the courage to look at him, there is only hurt. It’s written across his face, already engraved in his posture._

_ He looks betrayed. As if thinking that  you’d been the one messing with him during all those months of flirtations. He doesn’t snap at you. Doesn’t lose his temper. But that makes it all the more worse._

_“Forget…forget I said it.” He sighs, giving you one last look before hopping down._

_You watch as he goes, your shoulders slumped, already beginning to beat yourself up. But something comes over you._

_“Dameron, wait!” you call out, going after him. He turns as you get to him, and you grab the collar of his jacket, pulling him towards you till your foreheads are touching._

_You stare at him with apologetic, yet adoring, eyes as your hands find their way into his curls. He’s the one that closes the gap, his lips melding with yours, hands on each other, tender and soft._

_He’s also the one that pulls away first, a radiant smile on his face, one you’ve never seen before. The usual is one that’s practiced, flirtatious, charismatic. This one is relaxed, genuinely happy._

_A breeze blows past, making you shiver._

_“Cold?” he asks, and you nod, a smile tugging at your own lips. He wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Come on.” He begins to lead you back inside. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”_

That’d marked the beginning of a romantic relationship that still prevailed many years down the line. You smile thinking about it, absentmindedly listening to the tap of the leaky concrete ceiling. A small meal of something that looks terrible is shoved through your cell door before it closes again.

The two of you had shared memories, secrets, pleasure, and pain. Love and anger and jealousy. Everything both of you had was passed to the other, whether it be out of giving or the need to share a burden. You’d lived through victories together. Trials and tribulations. Incidents that had come too close to death for comfort. Those that had been knocking at death’s doorstep….

“ _Where. Is. He?” Your hands are in your hair, facing down the General, taking a tone with her that could earn you a demotion. But you don’t care. You’re terrified. Poe was supposed to return a week ago. It’s been three._

_Leia looks at you, not angered. There’s something akin to sadness in her eyes, and she looks at you with that motherly gaze of hers, feeling your distress traveling through the air to her._

_“You should be focusing on your missions, Major,” she simply says. She walks up to you, resting a hand on your shoulder as you feel a heat at the back of your eyes begging to come free. “Listen to me.” She says your name, making sure that you’re providing her with your full, undivided attention. “You are our best agent, best spy, best sniper. I need you level-headed, and worrying is not going to do that.”_

_“With all due respect, General,” you reply, straightening your posture. “I don’t believe I can get any more worried than I am now. At least if I know, I’ll have something to help me make peace.”_

_She sighs, walking around her desk, sitting in the chair, leaning back and momentarily shutting her eyes. “We have reason to believe he may have been captured by First Order sympathizers in the Outer Rim.”_

_You show no reaction at her revelation, but inside, you are curling up, sobbing. You know that Poe is strong, that he’s clever, and courageous, and brave, but past evidence does not lie. Those who are captured by the First Order or those who sympathize with them never return…_

_You jump as the alarm in the med bay near the General’s office sounds, and it does nothing to aid your mood. That alarm means hope slipping through the cracks. Searching for life but ultimately finding death. It means that emergency aid is immediately needed on whoever has returned._

_But as you hear medics rushing by, you swear that you hear a familiar last name. And before Leia can stop you, you’re running. Chatter seems louder as you push past people. The air seems more alive. Perhaps indicative of an important someone making a miraculous return._

_And then you see him. The hopeful high you’d felt crashed to the ground, now impossibly low. He looks dead. But he is not. And perhaps that’s worse. He’s layered in bruises and cuts. A chunk of his hair appears to be missing. One of his eyes is closed, the other is swollen shut._

_The next day is all a blur, filed with tears and apprehension and a sense of loss. You’re in a haze, all consumed in a numbness. You’re not allowed to see him at first, and when you finally are, the two of you get your first quiet moment together alone._

_You sit at his bedside, your fingers laced with his, listening to his breathing. When he stirs, he lets out a small groan. “Poe,” you whisper._

_He mutters something unintelligible, but he gives your hand a squeeze. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, finally cracking open his eyes. The first thing he sees are your tears, and even in his debilitated state, he looks concerned. “Are you alright?”_

_ You stare at him. “You’re asking  me that?”_

_“Well, I’d say you seem to be in a worse state than me at this point.”_

_You let out a choked laugh, smiling and crying harder at the same time. You lean over, resting your head on his chest, relieved to feel him again. “I was so scared,” you whisper._

_“It’s okay,” he simply says._

_You feel his hand on your skin, his thumb brushing tears away. “You looked dead,” you whimper. “You looked so close.”_

_He closed his eyes a moment, his own breath shaking, “I’m here now, baby. I’m safe…with you.”_

You jolt as the door to your cell slams open. No words are said as a boot makes contact with your stomach, right on the spot that had previously been leaking blood. You cry out as you feel it open again, the warm liquid dripping down your side.

At the beginning of your stay here, they’d asked you questions, none of which you answered. Eventually, they’d stopped, and now, all they did was make you suffer. It didn’t seem that they had any definitive goal in mind, only to cause you pain.

A set of hands roam your body, and you don’t move. Don’t even flinch as a derogatory and suggestive remark leaves your captor’s mouth. You feel his hands at your pants, sliding them down, and you dread what will come. It’s already happened before…multiple times, but it does not get easier with each reoccurrence. You utilize the only defense mechanism you have left. You retreat into your head once more.

_The city lights are beautiful. Gold and white and neon and blue. You’ve always loved cities; you still do. They’re alive in every way. A culmination of a million cultures from every corner of the galaxy. Millions of beings, none of which know or care who you are._

_You’re happily shrouded in your anonymity, content to be no one._

_You stand on the balcony of your hotel room, looking out across the buildings, focusing on little scenes: a couple buying ice cream, a drunk throwing up into a bush in the far distance._

_Your love sleeps behind you, soft breaths floating through the air, just barely reaching your ear. Or at least, you believe he is asleep. You don’t hear his footsteps on the floor, but he is there. He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your neck._

_“Hey,” you whisper, leaning into him, feeling his around you. “Can’t sleep?”_

_He shook his head._

_“Me neither,” you respond. The clock reads midnight, but the air still crackles with life. “Go for a walk?”_

_He nods, the both of you getting dressed. On the street, there is soft music drifting through the air, a jazz from a sidewalk cafe still open to night workers and night owls. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, yours around his waist, as you two slowly walk down the street._

_His body is warm against the chilly air, and you nestle against him as you stroll. You stop by the river, watching the water ripple below, painted a million different colors by the light. More buildings shine in the distance, forming a jagged skyline, so intricate that you want to drag your fingers along it and feel the texture._

_You notice Poe’s gaze on you._

_“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow._

_He pauses a moment. “Nothing, you’re just… beautiful,” he simply responds._

_ You laugh. “All these lights, and you’re looking at  me ?”_

_He only smiles and shrugs. The subtle compliment makes you warm inside, security washing over you. As a gust of wind blows past, he moves behind, wrapping his arms around you on either side to keep you warm._

_You adore this place._

_Just you and your love—in the midst of one beautiful city midnight._

You snap back to reality, the memory making you smile. Pain vanishes for a small amount of time as you think.

No, this would not be the worst way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I really just wrote this to practice a new POV in writing, but I liked it so much I’ve decided to post. I apologize for any tense issues. I did proofread but I usually write 3rd person past tense, so my brain may have reverted back to that instinctively in a sentence or two (oops).
> 
> Anyway, I’m fairly proud of this and am thinking of writing another chapter, so let me know what you think and if you would want that?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look from Poe’s POV.

He cannot sleep. Worry and distress are consuming him, wrenching his insides around, tampering with the portions of his brain that allow him to relax. When he’d heard you’d been taken, he had returned to his quarters, laid on the bed, and unashamedly sobbed. The captured often never returned.

He wakes during the night. Sometimes because he believes that he can hear you. Sometimes because he is missing the familiar weight of you on his chest. Sometimes because he has nightmares, and there are only empty sheets beside him.

It’s a month after your disappearance that he finally gains the courage to enter your quarters. It screams familiarity, and that is the worst part. Your shoes are still casually strewn by the door. The bed is still messed up from when the two of you had woken up, made love, and then gotten ready two weeks past. It feels like a lifetime ago to him.

Your pillow still smells like you. Something subtly sweet and distinctly citrusy.

He ensures that he is the only one to suffer from his grief. Poe Dameron is not one to fail to get the job done. But he goes about the day with a numbness to his actions. In some ways, it’s a good thing. He is hyper-efficient, immune to distractions, for that is what numbness does to him.

But there’s always something missing in his headspace. Something vaguely shaped like you.

He lies in his bed that night, staring at the ceiling, eyes tracing the bright stripes that the light from the moon reflects onto the surface. He replays memories in his head. Good and bad. Hopeful and hopeless. Tragic and beautiful.

_He watches you. You’re on your stomach, in the grass, your hands wrapped around a sniper rifle. You mutter numbers under your breath, running them in your head with an extraordinary speed, something he knows he’ll never be able to do._

_You handle the rifle with a delicacy, like it’s a work of art that you love dearly. You treat it as such, and he knows that he cannot possibly count the number of times he has seen you polishing it, oiling the trigger._

_You’d always loved your job. Why you did, exactly, was revealed to him one night years ago, in the early hours, whispered beneath covers that felt like they could protect the two of you from anything._

_You were the on the side of the Light. You’d grown up on the side of the Light. And the Light did not believe in death. Death was cruel, unnecessary in many situations. It had the potential to be the ultimate act of barbarism. And the both of you had been raised on that idea like it was religion._

_And that night, you’d shamefully admitted that you loved your weapon for the cleanliness in which it got the job done. One shot, and it was over. One shot with the capacity to end someone’s world, someone’s life, someone’s love._

_That memory is what he recalls as he listens to you take deep breaths, your figure relaxing. By now, he’s seen you work enough to know that that means you’re about to take the shot. He watched the target through binoculars._

Bang _._

_A yell. A thud. A burst of red like a blossoming rose._

_It is done. Just like that. He grins immediately. “That’s my girl,” he says, too soft for you to hear._

_You remove your focus from the scope and meet him with a smile. You stand, slinging the rifle over your shoulder. “Let’s go.”_

_Another shot in the distance sounds off, and his head is instantly on a swivel, looking for a perpetrator. “What the hell?”_

_He looks to you, and his eyes widen._

_You’re on the ground._

_You’re bleeding._

_You’re gasping._

_That had been a blaster bolt with your name on it._

_He’s in shock for a moment. He just stares. But then, he’s at your side, pulling you into his arms, muttering profanities under his breath in distress. He activates the comm in his ear. “I need a medical team to….” He rattles off coordinates, and all he can do is wait._

_His world is freezing, leaving just you and him and your agonizing pain that he can seemingly feel too. Your distress sizzles through the air, clutching at his heart, clawing at it, begging for him to help. And he can do nothing. Nothing to aid you clinging to life in his lap._

_Your breathing is ragged, your eyes are blank. The only sign that you are still alive is the painful sound coming from your lips. “Stay with me, baby,” he begs, pleading to any higher power that may exist. “Stay with me.”_

In short, once everything had run its course, you’d been fine. Fine after hours of surgery and a nasty scar, that is. He supposed that he should’ve been grateful that your attacker had not possessed the same precision that you had. If they had, it would’ve been a shot clean through your skull, and it would’ve truly been over.

But regardless, that did nothing to stop the feeling he’d felt from returning to him every night. He still feels it: in his dreams, in his fears. He feels it right now. It’s not as strong. It’s dull, like something that doesn’t cause him blatant pain, but won’t allow him to relax either.

And as he lies on his bed, unable to sleep, all he wants is you. You by his side, you in his arms, your presence gracing his. You are always there: after particularly long days, after lost battles, after deaths, after hard missions….

_He paces down the halls of base, his hair disheveled, bags under his eyes. One pilot down, two damaged ships, three civilian casualties, and no information whatsoever. All under his command._

_He pushes open the door to his quarters. The room emanates a soft, warm glow, alighted by lamps and candles, matching the feeling that you give him. You sit at the desk, working away at some logistics for an upcoming mission._

_When you catch sight of him, you jump, for he’d been silent coming in. He watches your happy face fade as you see his state._

_He almost feels guilty that he has brought his gloom with him upon his return. But you don’t seem to mind, like always._

_You walk up to him, simply wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss to your hair and relishes your warmth, breathing you in._

_You pull away, fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt to pull it over his head. A smattering of bruises lines his ribs, your eyes quickly flicking to his. “Don’t worry about it,” he says softly._

_He glances at the clock, alarmed at the fact that it is nearly midnight. Wordlessly, you grasp his hand, leading him through the room, into the refresher._

_“What happened?” You ask tentatively as your hands run tenderly along his body, soaping him up._

_“Can I tell you tomorrow?”_

_You nod, moments of silence passing._

_“Tell me about your day,” he says quietly. The sight of you washes over him, relaxes him in a way only you can achieve._

_You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t really do much—“_

_“Please,” he pleads, cutting you off, desperation in his voice. “I just want to hear you speak about something…anything…”_

_“Okay.” You smile warmly, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Well I got to sleep in this morning actually till around 9. I worked on some mission logistics—oh, and I watched Leia chew some colonel out…”_

_As you speak, he zones out, just letting the sound of you comfort him. It is euphoric compared to the sense of failure he’s endured the past two weeks._

_When he goes to wash his hair, you stop him, instead turning him around and running your hands through his curls, washing them thoroughly. It is almost sinful how good your hands feel, tenderly running along his scalp, gently working out any knots. The water around the drain circles slightly gray from fallout ash._

_When he goes to return the favor, you refuse. “Go to bed,” you insist, able to tell that he is very tired._

_“But…,” he objects. There is some arguing back and forth before you practically push him out of the shower._

_“Why are you so difficult?” you question, laughing softly._

_He smiles, opening up the curtain slightly so that you can see his smirk. “You wouldn’t want me any other way, sweetheart, and you know it.”_

_You merely roll your eyes, tugging the curtain closed._

_He gets in bed, waiting for you before he falls asleep. You walk out when you’re done and dressed, and he watches as you go about turning off lights and blowing out candles. The softness and tranquility that you exude challenges his sadness and desperation that he is sure is rolling about the room in waves, consuming everything. The two of you are opposites when you need to be, the same when it is beneficial, the perfect complement to the other._

_Once you’re settled in, he rolls towards you, resting his head on your shoulder. Your fingers calmingly comb through his hair as he breaths softly, savoring the feeling of your warm skin against his._

_He is falling prey to sleep quicker and quicker as the seconds pass. When he hears you speak, your voice is barely a whisper. “Good night, love.”_

He’s been with you for years.  _Loved_ you for years. He’d met you at nineteen. Spent some time together. Then you’d separated to lead different lives. Him to the New Republic, you following your own path.

A reunion had occurred years down the line, leading to the moment right now, where he lies in bed, fingers twisting in the sheets. The future has been in consideration with the two of you. A plan to tie the knot once the war was over, get a place in the city, adopt a few dogs perhaps.

The idea, once bright, currently seems so far out of reach to him. Like a light in the distance that he is so desperately grasping for, his attempts only pushing it further and further away.

He thinks of all his proclamations of love to you, all of his hopeful thoughts he’d infused in you. All of the promises he’d made to you…

_It is well past midnight. The two of you lie on his X-Wing, near the back on the thrust engines. It is as far off the ground as the both of you can get for now. You head is on his chest, his jacket around your shoulders as you look up at the stars. Although you don’t notice, he is looking at you, a fondness spreading a warm feeling throughout his body._

_Your eyes seem to reflect the light of the stars as you stare off into the abyss of space. A ship streaks by, and a small chuckle escapes your lips._

_He raises an eyebrow in confusion. “What?”_

_“Nothing,” you tell him, drawing your hands into the sleeves of his jacket to keep warm. “Just a memory.”_

_He pushes a strand of hair from your face, the corners of his lips twitching. “Wanna tell me?”_

_You pause a moment, tilting your head thoughtfully as if unsure. “Back home,” you begin, “I’d always find buildings with fire escapes so that I could sit on the roof and watch ships.”_

_He threads his fingers with yours as your attention shifts to another ship._

_“I had one of those compasses you could get from the store—maybe a credit or two—and, based on the direction, I’d just imagine where the ships were going….”_

_You laugh softly, a small smile on your lips. “There was really no logic to it…it was just fun._

_“Sometimes I’d bring a holopad and take virtual ‘walks’ down the streets of some old Naboolian city, or some foreign Deep Core metropolis, or some bustling Corellian bazaar._

_“And all of that would just turn into long nights of dreaming about leaving home and traveling the galaxy. I could spend hours doing that, just seeing endless visions of fantasies and my wildest dreams, thoughts of wanderlust and yearning to see and feel…to experience…the entire galaxy.”_

_He finds himself enamored by the way you speak, the way your eyes seem to cloud over as you relive the past._

_“Well you get to travel in this job now, right?” he asks._

_You hum in agreement, the smallest frown appearing. “Yes, but not everywhere I’d want to go.”_

_ “Where  do you want to go?” _

_You rattle off city and planet names, sometimes entire systems. He smiles at your childlike excitement as mentions of certain places make your entire face light up. The way you jolt slightly as you enthusiastically remember a crucial place you’d forgotten. The way your hands move as you speak._

_The list is long, but Maker knows that the both of you have your entire life ahead._

_“We’ll go some day,” he tells you as you finish. “Once the war is over. Once we’ve won.”_

_You smile. “Yeah?”_

_He nods. “One day, sweetheart. I promise,” he murmurs. “One day.”_

  
Poe is now not so sure that that one day will ever come.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

He wakes hours later to a frantic banging on his door. He resists the urge to ignore it. He’d miraculously fallen asleep fairly quickly, and getting out of bed would spoil that.

A warbling sounds at the door, followed by a series of beeps. His droid.

He groans, rubbing his eyes and stumbling out of bed before flinging open the entrance to his quarters.

BB-8 is there, already speaking at a million miles per hour. Poe pleads with the droid to slow down as the pilot’s brain slowly comprehends and translates the binary in his sleepy state.

But when Poe is through with his understanding, his eyes widen at the single sentence.

_They’ve found her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is from Poe’s POV. This will be the last chapter in this ‘bunch-of-one-shots’ format. I think I’ll wrap this whole story up in one last short and sweet chapter after this.
> 
> I’m honestly not too sure about how much I like this chapter. I wrote it pretty fast and spent a couple days trying to figure out what i didn’t like; long story short, couldn’t figure it out, so I just posted it anyway.
> 
> Let me know what you think in a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

You are somewhere else. Even with your eyes closed, you can sense the amount of light. It is so bright, blinding. A heart monitor is beeping, nearly in time with a set of heavy footsteps in the hallway.

“Hey,” whispers a voice. You recognize it. Soft and rich and warm, sliding over vowels like velvet. “Sweetheart…”

It’s like a dream. You’d spent so many days on cold, concrete floors, fantasizing about that voice, that timbre, that sound.

You crack your eyes open, and he is looking down at you. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying. “Poe…” you murmur, and he lets out a choked laugh, caught between his joy and previous sadness.

He leans over, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he mumbles. “Don’t you fucking dare…”

You laugh, the sound coming out hoarse. Just the mere action pains your throat. You raise your hand, lightly brushing his face with a weak shakiness to your touch. “You were crying,” you say softly, looking at him with tender eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures you. His hand finds yours, tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “I…I was so worried.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m here now.”

“No…baby, you didn’t see yourself,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “When they brought you in, you were so pale…your lips were blue, you were barely breathing.”

You draw in a shaky breath, small tears spilling over, losing grip on your pretense of strength for him. “I thought I was going to die there.”

He lets out a soft breath, leaning over and wrapping his arms around you. He can hear how scared you sound, how terrified you were that each day may have been your last. “Like you said…you’re with me now.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as said before, last chapter is short and sweet to close everything out. Just a lil over 300 words. I would’ve added this to the end of the last chapter, but I felt that there should’ve been some sort of break in between.
> 
> As I always ask, what’d you think?? Let me know in a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I really just wrote this to practice a new POV in writing, but I liked it so much I’ve decided to post. I apologize for any tense issues. I did proofread but I usually write 3rd person past tense, so my brain may have reverted back to that instinctively in a sentence or two (oops).
> 
> Anyway, I’m fairly proud of this and am thinking of writing another chapter, so let me know what you think and if you would want that?


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